


Sollux Can't Say the Word "Masochist"

by let2gotwoapplebee2



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/let2gotwoapplebee2/pseuds/let2gotwoapplebee2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider learns how black romance works.<br/>Also, he learns that he's pretty cool with getting his angry schmang on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sollux Can't Say the Word "Masochist"

**Author's Note:**

> Multi part porn, guys.  
> This is a teaser.  
> Because I'm awful.

An invisible push slams you against the mattress by your throat.

This is new.

He stands on the opposite end of the room, gnashing his teeth, with hissing shouts that slash the air to ribbons. It knots the muscles in the middle of your back. Something in the base of your gut stirs, but it isn’t the pang of sympathy you would normally feel over seeing a stripe of blood paint someone’s face. If anything, it’s closer to satisfaction that you managed to land the hit. But that’s not quite it, either.

This is new.

Mismatched eyes lock onto yours and they change. From overbright siren lights that scream your wrongdoings to truly dark and carnivorous things, they change in an instant. It’s unsettling. You arch against the not entirely unwelcome hand at your throat. He holds your eyes prisoner as he drags the back of his wrist across his upper lip. 

He advances on you until his knees are between yours, and he tilts dangerously over you without seeming to bend. His hands hang plain and limp at his sides as the grip on your throat makes a squeeze in earnest, no longer content just to pin you. The pressure is slight, but you gasp all the same. 

Sparks skitter across your forehead, dragging your hair from your eyes. It’s a prickle-gentle thing that makes the muscles along your spine jump and stay. The inquiring electricity tugs at your sunglasses and you plant a kick against his middle. Skinnysharp hands catch your calf, though, nails digging through denim. The pinpricks of honed keratin push a breath from your lungs you didn’t realize you were holding. He grins and there’s way too many teeth. He offers you the word “masochist,” but he butchers it and serves it sideways through his smirk. You frown. That’s the most he’s getting out of you. 

He drops your leg and it falls like an abandoned toy as he crawls over you. All at once, there’s too much sensation and not enough skin. You can watch as red and blue shove your shirt up and dance across your chest and stomach. Something tangles behind your head and the mouthful of shirtcotton you’ve got now tells you it’s his actual hand. You open the eyes you didn’t realize you’d closed just in time to meet his own and lock your mouth in place as he wrenches your hair in his fist. 

Every fiber tightens down your back and your stomach hardens to keep from arching into your scrawny, gray tormentor. A growl squirms from him like it surprises itself as he begins to tug, scratch, kiss, bite anywhere he can find. There is desperation in his everything. He lines the tip of his nose with yours and his eyes scorch holes through yours.

“Fucking. REACT.”

“HmmNope.”

He throws his head back and growls in frustration. You can see where his blood still stains his upper lip from here. Nasty is a word you’d use to describe it. So is attractive.

This is new.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed to write DaveSol. I was jonesing.


End file.
